


Petrichor

by andreaphobia



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Death, Denial, Gen, Loneliness, Violence, vengeance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-09
Updated: 2012-07-09
Packaged: 2017-11-09 12:00:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/455197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andreaphobia/pseuds/andreaphobia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yamamoto Takeshi is dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Petrichor

**Author's Note:**

> _petrichor (/ˈpɛtrɨkər/), noun: the scent of earth after rain_
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> Originally archived on LJ. Edited some since the first time.

 

 

  
Yamamoto Takeshi died today.  
  
To be precise, he was found today, dead. It’s likely he was killed earlier than that.  
  
Weaklings have a tendency to say things like _Bu_ _t he was so strong, how could this have happened_. They are deluding themselves. That is not how this works. Strength is not an award that you win once and keep forever. It’s an ongoing process.  
  
How strong you are is determined by your ability to fight and survive.  
  
If you are killed, you were weak.  
  
Survival of the fittest.  
  
I received a call from Sawada at four-thirty a.m. _It’s Yamamoto_ , he’d said. _He’s—_  
  
Yamamoto Takeshi is lying cold on a mortician’s slab, and I have not had my lunch yet. Things like this put me in a bad mood.  
  
By now Yamamoto Takeshi has been dead for at least seven hours.  
  
How could this happen. They say.  
  
What did they expect?  
  
Everyone dies.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The funeral is six days later. It is not raining.  
  
I send Tetsu to attend in my place. The entire family will be there, and I dislike crowds. Especially ones in which everyone is emotional.  
  
It’s unbearable.  
  
For me, it’s fine if I watch from a distance. Yamamoto is dead, so it won’t make a difference to him.  
  
They bury him beneath the shade of a tree.  
  
It is not raining.  
  
Hibird takes off from my shoulder and flies in a spiral around my head, twittering.  
  
“Hibari, Hibari.” He calls.  
  
“What is it?”  
  
He lands on my outstretched finger.  
  
“Hibari.” And then, “Takeshi, Takeshi.”  
  
He flutters his wings.  
  
“No.” I tell him. He cocks his head and looks at me.  
  
“No,” I repeat. “Not anymore.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
After this event, it is business as usual. Work is work. The world does not grind to a halt because of one man’s death. In fact, one man’s death can cause a lot of extra work.  
  
The day after the funeral, Sawada calls me to his office and hands me a folder.  
  
“Take care of this.”  
  
“Fine.”  
  
He watches me.  
  
“I—well, I thought you might want to—”  
  
“Want to what.”  
  
For a while Sawada does not answer. I flip through the folder. Targets are always stupid, letting themselves be photographed so easily. That’s herbivores for you.  
  
I never let myself be photographed.  
  
I am not a herbivore.  
  
“Hibari-san, are you... are you all right?”  
  
I shut the folder.  
  
“Why wouldn’t I be.”  
  
Again, he does not answer. I tuck the folder under my arm, and take it with me when I leave.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
When I return to Vongola headquarters, I hear music all through the corridors, though it is late. It is Gokudera in the library, playing Chopin and crying.  
  
It’s pathetic, and it’s making him play out of time.  
  
“Pull yourself together.”  
  
His hands go still over the keys.  
  
I am tired. I start to undo my tie. He stands up and turns around, taking a step towards me.  
  
It takes a while for him to speak.  
  
“What—what the hell is wrong with you? Do you feel _nothing_? For fuck’s sake, you didn’t even come to his funeral! You know he—”  
  
The tie slips neatly from my collar. I begin to fold it into fourths.  
  
“He what.”  
  
He stops and stares at me.  
  
It’s irritating.  
  
“You know what? Forget it. Forget all of it. Nothing I say will _ever—_ you can’t even—”  
  
He slams the lid of the piano down, walks away.  
  
All of this... is so irritating. _People_ are irritating. They form these ridiculous expectations of others, only to be disappointed when they aren’t met. Then they can’t accept that they were wrong about that person in the first place, so they push the blame onto someone else.  
  
They are wrong.  
  
The simplest answer is that he was weak.  
  
How could this have happened. They say.  
  
But that is all there is to it.  
  
There is no reason to grieve.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
That is not who I am.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“I’ve scheduled your flight for Thursday.”  
  
Tetsu is holding the folder Sawada gave me. He is staring straight ahead, not looking at me. The way he used to stand at attention when we were at school.  
  
“It seems they fled the country directly afterwards.”  
  
I am cleaning my gun.  
  
“Mm.”  
  
Dinner is plain, traditional, the way I prefer it. Tetsu sets the folder aside as we eat and doesn’t speak much.  
  
Over the night’s sake, he turns to me.  
  
“Kyou-san.”  
  
“Hm.”  
  
He seems to be searching for something to say. He starts with:  
  
“Kyou-san, you know, maybe you should—”  
  
And stops.  
  
This isn’t like him.  
  
It’s bothersome.  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“... I was thinking that it might be good for you to take a break. A short one, of course. Before you go.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
He seems confused.  
  
“Why, you say... I don’t know. It was just a thought.”  
  
I finish my cup of sake in one swallow, and set it down.  
  
“Things like that aren’t necessary. I am going to sleep soon.”  
  
“Yes. Sorry. I’ll bring over the results of our reconnaissance in the morning.”  
  
I nod. He leaves.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
I am lying awake on my futon looking at the ceiling.  
  
It’s not that it is difficult to sleep. I am simply not tired.  
  
Outside the window, it starts to rain.  
  
My mind feels heavy and wired. Like I am thinking of many things at once. Like I am thinking of nothing at all.  
  
It’s annoying. It’s tiresome.  
  
There is no reason to grieve.  
  
The baby came to me the morning I received the call. He asked me, “Are you all right with this?” I said that it was a stupid question. What I thought or felt would have no impact on anything in particular. Only what I did. He said, “That is what you would say, all right.” Then he left without another word.  
  
This is normal. This is life.  
  
The thing that herbivores always forget is that it ends.  
  
I never forget.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Perhaps I’ll take a break.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
It is not a long drive to the ocean.  
  
I have made this drive once before.  
  
Yamamoto Takeshi wanted a lift to the seaside. I told him to drive himself.  
  
I don’t remember what he said.  
  
Today, I go just after sunrise. The sun is hidden behind clouds, and everything is grey. Everything is wet.  
  
It rained last night.  
  
When Yamamoto Takeshi came here, he brought a disposable camera.  
  
There is no one at the beach. Only the seagulls and me.  
  
I walk down to the edge of the surf, and my shoes are coated in grit.  
  
There is nothing here, at all. And after a while, I can’t remember why I came here in the first place.  
  
I go home.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
I dislike Europe.  
  
It is nothing like Namimori.  
  
The first night I am there, I receive emails from Tetsu and Sawada. Tetsu’s emails are long. They are about business.  
  
Sawada’s is short. It reads:  
  
 _Hibari-san,  
  
I know I don’t have to tell you this at all, but I’m going to do it anyway. I hope you won’t mind too much.  
  
Be careful, OK? Come back safely. Everyone is worried. He said we can’t afford to lose someone else, not now. I think that’s his way of caring, haha.  
  
We’ll be waiting for you.  
  
\- Sawada Tsunayoshi  
_  
A pointless message. He knew it would annoy me.  
  
I close my laptop. The folder lies beside my hand.  
  
I’ll go tomorrow.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
I walk along the street. Last night’s rain gurgles in the gutters, going deep underground.  
  
The signs in the shops say OPEN, or SORRY WE’RE CLOSED. OPEN, OPEN, SORRY WE’RE CLOSED. It’s a peaceful street.  
  
I have my gun.  
  
It is almost a cliche, holing up in a slum like this. Criminals and herbivores have no imagination.  
  
When I get there, I hear someone moving around inside. I don’t bother to knock.  
  
I shoot the lock off the door, and go in.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Herbivores always beg.  
  
This is because they fear death. They fool themselves into thinking it is not inevitable. They cannot accept the immutable law of survival.  
  
Kill or be killed.  
  
I pistol-whip him across the face. He dribbles blood and snot and spittle across the floor. He spits out a tooth.  
  
It’s disgusting.  
  
“ _Please_ , no, I’ll give you anything—”  
  
I hit him again. He falls over, sobbing. Clutches at himself, his ruined kneecap, writhing around on the floor.  
  
I shot him in the knee to make sure he would not try to escape.  
  
This is not personal.  
  
“Look, I’ll tell you what he said,” he raves, while I reload my gun. “At the end. His last words, he said _please, just—please—you have to tell him—_ I don’t know who he was talking about, but—”  
  
“Enough.”  
  
“Wait, wait— _wait_! Don’t you want to hear what he said? Don’t you—”  
  
I’m done reloading.  
  
“No.”  
  
And I pull the trigger.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
When I return, no one says anything to me.  
  
I prefer it this way.  
  
The thing is done. There is nothing more to be said about it.  
  
Only Gokudera bothers, because he’s stupid. He comes up to me with his hands in his pockets and says, “Good work.”  
  
I look at him. He looks away.  
  
“What did you expect?” I say. “Don’t waste my time.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
People are bothersome. They gather, they crowd, they form groups. They form expectations of each other, they cling to each other as though it could make a difference.  
  
They forget.  
  
They’re weak.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
I am not weak.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos appreciated!


End file.
